He released her, very slowly. He waited expectantly, ready to snatch her back into his arms if need be.
For once in her life, she seemed to have believed his threat Perhaps she was so concerned that she would grab at any scrap of information about her sister. She faced Ms.
'Miss Andre, it was a pleasure,' she said. Her voice was the softest drawl, her manner that of a charming, well-mannered belle. She swept from the saloon like a queen.
A cheer went up from the poker crowd. One of the ranchers stood. 'Mister, I sure salute you! That's one heck of a spirited filly, beautiful to boot, and you handled her like a man!'
'Buy him a drink!' the heavyset professional gambler called. 'If I'd been able to manage my wife like that, I might be a rich man by now!'
Malachi laughed, sitting down and waving a hand in the air. 'She's going to be mighty mad later, gents. We'll see how I handle her then.' He looked at Iris. She sat beside him. He gave her his kerchief to wipe the whiskey from her face. She seemed more confused than angry.
'Malachi, that really was your wife?'
He shook his head. 'Iris, she is my sister-in-law's sister. She wants Kristin back. I couldn't seem to stop her coming with me, and that's another long story, too.'
Iris sat back, smiling. Malachi poured her more whiskey, and she swallowed it.
'Thanks for not ripping her hair out.'
'Don't kid yourself, Malachi. I saw that Colt in her pants. I'm willing to bet she knows how to use it.'
'Like a pro—except that she has a bad time aiming at people.'
Iris was smiling at him with a peculiar little grin. 'She might not make you such a bad wife after all, my friend.'
Malachi frowned. 'Iris—'
'She's got spirit, and she's got courage. A little raw around the edges, as if she's got some scars on her. But we've all got scars. I can't see you with a namby-pamby woman, and she ain't that.'
'No, she isn't that. She's a pain in the damned—'
'Butt!' Iris broke in, laughing. 'Yes sir, she's that. But I can see something in your eyes there, Malachi. She ain't going to be checking into Mrs. Haywood's place alone, is she?'
Malachi smiled, idly twirling his whiskey around in his glass. Miss McCahy had seen fit to comment upon his actions and whereabouts.
He was damned ready to comment upon hers.
'I think I should give her time to check in and settle down and get real, real comfortable. What do you think?'
Iris laughed at the sizzle in his eyes.
She wished that it was her. But it wasn't. He was more like a married man than he knew. The beautiful little blonde with the delicate features and the tough-as-nails stature had those golden tendrils of hers wrapped tightly around him.
Still, Mrs. Sloan Gabriel's manners did need a little improvement.
'Let her get real, real comfortable,' Iris advised him sagely. 'A game of poker might be right in line here. Come on over, I'll introduce you to the boys.'
'All right. I'm glad to meet the boys.'
The heavyset gambler was Nat Green. The slimmer man with him was Idaho Joe, and the ranchers were Billy and Jay Fulton, Carl Hicks and Jeremiah Henderson. It was a good game. Iris held onto his shoulders, laughing, while he played. She brought him drinks.
Around supper time, she disappeared and came back with big plates of steak and potatoes and green beans.
He lost at cards—a little bit—and the meal cost him almost as much as the liquor, but he didn't care much. He had a good time.
And through all of it, he anticipated his arrival at Mrs. Haywood's Inn, Rooms by the Day, Month or Year.
He was just dying to see his darlin' wife.
Just dyin' to see her.
He knew that the door would be locked.
He even suspected that Shannon might have gone to Mrs. Haywood with quite a sob story about being ignored so that her husband could play around with another woman.
Shannon was a good little actress. He was learning that quickly.
And he was learning, too, that things had changed between them, irrevocably. Maybe they would always be at battle, but the battlegrounds were subtly changing. He might still spend ninety percent of his time thinking Mr. McCahy should have dragged his daughter into the woodshed a number of times at a far younger age, but he couldn't deny what she had done to him. Exactly what that was, he wasn't sure yet. And he didn't want to think about it; he didn't want to analyze it. He fixed it in his mind that Shannon had started this one. Either down in the store when she had kissed him with that pagan promise, or when she had come striding across to the saloon to douse Iris in whiskey. This one, she had begun.
But he was going to finish it
He had his own fair share of acting ability.
'Mr. Gabriel!' Mrs. Haywood said with censure when Malachi came to ask for a key to the room. 'Now, I know, sir, that a man has got to have a few simple pleasures of his own. And a saloon's a good place for a man to have whiskey and a cigar—keeps the scent out of his own parlor, you know. But when it comes to other things… when he leaves a beautiful little bride…' She shook her head in reproach.
'Iris is just an old friend, ma'am.' Mr. Haywood was in the kitchen, eating his supper. Malachi raised his voice a hair, determined to work on them both. 'I don't know what my wife told you, Mrs. Haywood, but there was nothing going on. I had a few drinks, and I lost a few hands of poker. Ma'am, you got to understand. If a man lets his wife make a fool of him like that, well, then, he just ain't a man anymore.'
'That's right, Martha.' Mr. Haywood dropped his napkin on the butcher-block kitchen dining table and strode to the door. 'Martha, if the man wants a key to his own room, we'd best give it to him. She's his wife, and that's that.'
Mrs. Haywood was still uncertain. 'Mr. Gabriel, I probably ain't got no right to keep man and wife apart, but —'
'I'm going to try to make her understand, Mrs. Haywood. Honest, I am.'
'You give him the key, Martha,' Mr. Haywood said.
'You're right, Papa, I suppose. Oh, Mr. Gabriel, I was just giving my husband a piece of apple pie. Won't you have some?'
'Why, that's mighty kind of you. Thank you, ma'am.'
He had the key, and he had a cup of good strong coffee and some of the best apple pie he'd tasted in his entire life. And it was the middle of summer.
'I jar and preserve all my own fruits,' Mrs. Haywood told him proudly.
'Well, it's the finest eating I've done, ma'am, since way before the war.'
As Mrs. Haywood blushed, the door to the parlor opened. A pretty young girl in a maid's cap and smooth white apron walked in. She bobbed a nervous little curtsy to Malachi and looked at the Haywoods. 'Mrs. Gabriel is all set for the night, Mrs. Haywood. She had me fetch her some of the lavender soap, and asked if we'd be so good as to put the price on the bill. She thanks you kindly for the use of the tub.'
His heart started ticking a staccato beat. If he'd gone by instinct, he would have knocked the table over, brushed the maid aside, burst through the door and raced up the stairs.
Primitive, he warned himself reproachfully.
That wasn't what he wanted. Slow torture was what he had in mind.
He sipped his coffee like a gentleman. 'My wife's in the bath?' he inquired innocently.
'Oh, why, yes, Mr. Gabriel,' Mrs. Haywood said. 'Don't worry, young man, you're welcome to stay here in the kitchen if you're worrying about disturbing her.'
'Why, ma'am, I was thinking that I might steal a little of her water, and save someone having to haul more
